Cookies for Coach Derek
by Evil Cosmic Triplets
Summary: Derek's volunteering as a junior coach for little league - at his mother's behest - when he comes to the aid of a little boy in a rather extraordinary way. Just when he thinks that his act of kindness has gone unappreciated, the little boy shows up to practice with something extraordinary of his own. Features Mama Stilinski, Kid!Stiles, and Kid!Derek
1. Baseball

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing of this.

**A/N:** Prompted by a conversation with kbeto; thanks animegirl1129 for the read.

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"What's wrong?" Derek knelt to talk to the little boy who was crying.

He questioned his mother's insistence that he volunteer to help 'coach' the little league kids. He knew very little about how to work with them and he wasn't sure how to handle things like this. Snot dripped from the little boy's nose and the tears showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. Derek, however, thought of his mother, and tried to think of what she would do in this situation.

"I..." the little boy's breath hitched, "I h...hurt my arm," he finished, and then wiped his dripping nose on the sleeve of his jersey.

Derek tried not to grimace or roll his eyes. He hadn't seen what had happened, but he thought that maybe the kid was overplaying the situation. Trying to gain attention from his peers and the older kids, like himself, who volunteered during practice.

"Can you show me where it hurts?" Derek asked, praying to his mother for patience that he didn't have.

The little boy nodded and bit his lower lip. He then sniffed and his thin frame shuddered as he pushed his long shirt sleeve up, and Derek saw that the little boy hadn't been exaggerating his injury. As a matter-of-fact, he wondered how the little boy, Stilinski, the back or his jersey read, was standing so still. His arm looked broken.

"It hurts, "Stilinski said, "a lot," he added when Derek just stared.

Derek didn't think about what he did. He acted on pure instinct, not caring about being caught in the act, he touched Stilinski's broken arm and concentrated, applying his own super healing skills externally. He poured out his healing into the little boy, mending the broken bone, fixing the torn sinews.

Stilinski stared at him, and blinked his tears away. And then he smiled, and he wrapped his arms around Derek's neck and gave him a great, big kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you!" he shouted, and then Derek watched as Stilinski ran back onto the field, his earlier pain and tears forgotten as he played.

Derek hoped that this wouldn't get him into any trouble, because, if anyone knew that he had the ability to heal people, it would also lead to the revelation of a much bigger secret that would affect his entire family. He was nervous for the rest of practice, and for the rest of the week. But, little Stilinski didn't say anything, actually the little boy seemed to avoid him, and that caused Derek to feel something that he hadn't anticipated – sad and a little angry. He'd helped the little boy, and Stilinski avoided him.

'What kind of thanks was that?' he wondered with a frown.

* * *

"Mama," Stiles used his most plaintive voice, the one that he knew would get him anything he asked for, and his mom swiveled her head in his direction, her hand poised over the dinner dishes.

"What is it baby?" she asked, and though he was too old for the pet name, he secretly liked it, but he frowned, and she ruffled his hair with a soapy hand.

She sighed. "Sorry, what is it, Stiles?" she used the nickname that he'd only recently coined.

Six years old was much too big for him to be going by baby names, after all, and his real name was much too difficult for many of his friends and even his teachers to pronounce properly, so he'd come up with this as a compromise. Besides, he really didn't like his real name and wondered why his parents had given it to him. It didn't seem fair that his friends had normal names like Scott and Lydia and Isaac and Jackson when he was stuck with a name that no one could pronounce.

"Can you bake some of your special cookies for Coach Derek?" he asked. His heart thumped loudly in his chest and he crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping that his mother wouldn't say no to his request.

His mother frowned and tilted her head thoughtfully. "Is that one of the young boys who helps out during practices?"

Stiles nodded and held his breath. He hoped that his mom wouldn't ask too many questions, because, even though the bigger boy hadn't said anything about him keeping what had happened the other day a secret, Stiles just knew, deep down in his heart, that it should be kept a secret.

He'd felt his bone break, after all, and knew that it wasn't normal for bones to heal like that. Derek had performed a miracle for him, and Stiles wanted to pay him back for making the pain go away. He'd thought about it for days, and hadn't been able to look the older boy in the eye because he'd felt bad for not thanking him properly, but then it hit him. The best way to thank Derek was to share something that he prized more than anything in the world, and, while he couldn't exactly share his mother with the boy, he could share the bestest cookies in the world with him. He hoped that they would be enough to show his gratitude. He was grateful to the older boy, but couldn't give up his mother to him, he loved her too much to do that.

"You really like this Coach Derek, don't you?" his mother asked, kneeling next to him so that she could look into his eyes.

Stiles nodded again, vigorously. His hands were starting to get sweaty with his fingers crossed as they were, and his fingers were beginning to ache with the strain as he wished as strong and as hard as he could that his mother would say yes.

"Okay," she said, "but only if you help, alright?"

"Okay," Stiles felt that his heart was going to burst with the excitement. He might even get to add the special ingredient to the cookies, and he wouldn't tell Coach Derek what that ingredient was, not even if the older boy tried to tickle it out of him. He said so to his mother who only laughed and then started taking out the big baking bowl and the other tools necessary for cooking.

He got to stay up way past his bedtime, helping his mother bake the cookies. His mother let him pour the secret ingredient into the batter and then she let him stir it up, coaching him as he worked. By the time the cookies were cooling on the rack, he was exhausted, but there was still one more step left - packaging the baseball and baseball shaped cookies up into individual bags which Stiles would decorate in the morning.

"Off to bed with you," his mother shooed him out of the kitchen and he clambered up the stairs and readied himself for bed. He barely felt his mother's kiss on his cheek when she came up to tuck him in a few short minutes later.

Stiles clutched the bag of goodies in his hand, and he eagerly looked for Coach Derek as he and his mother walked onto the field for practice that afternoon. It was Saturday and he had skipped watching cartoons so that he could make sure that each and every cookie was properly decorated and nicely wrapped.

He frowned when he couldn't find the older boy anywhere and his heart felt sad. He felt tears pricking at the back of his eyes, but he pushed them back. He didn't want Coach Derek to see him as a cry baby, and he'd already blubbered all over the older boy earlier that week.

"Honey," his mother whispered into his ear, and she pointed off to their left, "isn't that Coach Derek?"

Stiles shielded his eyes against the sun and he squinted, and then he felt the corners of his mouth lift and his heart skipped a beat. He nodded, and with a squeeze to his mother's hand, he raced off, and came to a skidding halt in front of Derek. The older boy looked down at him, and Stiles found himself wishing that he was older and taller so that he could look Derek straight in the eye.

'Someday,' he promised himself, 'I'm going to be old enough and big enough, and Derek and I are going to be friends.'

"Stilinski," Coach Derek said, and his eyebrows puckered together as though he was confused about something.

"Stiles," he corrected, and then he held the bag of cookies out to the older boy.

"This is for you," he said, and then he looked up at the sky and he stuck his tongue out between his lips as he struggled to remember the words that his mother had taught him. He wanted to do this right and to make the older boy understand that he was grateful for him fixing his arm.

"As a token of my aprensihension," he stumbled over the word and then held his breath.

Derek smiled, and took the proffered bag. "Thank you," he said.

"They're the bestest cookies in the whole wide world," Stiles exclaimed, and then he clapped a hand over his mouth because he hadn't wanted those words to come out loud but they'd escaped his mouth before he could stop them. Words had a way of doing that with him.

Derek opened the bag and took one of the carefully wrapped cookies out. He sniffed it, and then tilted his head. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at the cookie and then he unwrapped it. Stiles watched the other boy with rapt attention as Derek sniffed the cookie again, and then took a bite.

Derek closed his eyes and Stiles held his breath, his heart was so loud that he couldn't hear anything else. When the older boy opened his eyes, Stiles could breathe again.

"Did you make these?" Derek asked, and the word, 'yes,' was on his lips, but Stiles felt a prick of guilt, and his eyes veered to his mother who was watching them from a short distance.

"I helped," he said, "my mama made them, and I, I wanted to thank you for, you know, making my arm better," Stiles whispered the last part so that no one else could hear it. "I got to put the special ingredient in though, and I also decorated them. I skipped my favorite cartoons and I thought that you'd like blue better than red or orange or purple, so I put the cookies in the blue wrapping." Stiles stuttered to a stop and gasped for air as the words tumbled from his lips. They really did take over at times, and he wished that he could stop them.

Derek took another bite of the cookie, and he closed his eyes, and he sighed. "Mmm," he said around the mouthful of the cookie, "these are the best cookies in the world, but," Derek knelt so that he was eye-level with Stiles, and he whispered, "just don't tell my mom that I said that, I don't want to hurt her feelings."

Stiles nodded seriously and he felt that his cheeks might split because he was smiling so much. Derek liked his cookies.

"You didn't have to thank me though," Derek said, seriously, and then he finished the cookie and pulled another one out. "Want to share this one?"

Stiles nodded, and his mouth drooled in anticipation of the sugary treat. This was the best day ever, he decided. He got to share something of his mother with the boy who'd healed his arm with a miracle. He didn't think to question it, and wouldn't for years later. Instead, he savored the shared treat and the time spent with the older boy. After practice, he gave Derek another hug and then waved as they both left with their mothers. As he rode home with his mother, Stiles told her that one day, when he was as old and as big as Coach Derek, they'd both be the best of friends.

"I bet you will," his mother said, and she caught his eyes in the rear view mirror and held them in her own.

It was a moment that Stiles would remember for the rest of his life - the way the late afternoon sunlight reflected off her green eyes, gave them an almost otherworldly glow, and the way it haloed her head in a soft gold, made her look like an angel.

"I love you, mama," Stiles said, his heart swelling.

"I love you too sweetie," she said, returning her eyes to the road, breaking the spell. "Promise me, that when you get as old and as big as Derek, you'll stay golden."

"I promise," Stiles said, nodding his agreement.

"That's a good boy," his mother said, and Stiles felt pride swell in his heart.

Years later, he'd remember that moment, how he'd imagined his mother with the wings of an angel, all reflected in gold, a halo of light surrounding her, and he'd wonder if that had been a premonition. And, if that had been a premonition, he wondered when what he'd imagined about Derek would come true - the older boy, now a man, bringing healing and hope to a world filled with pain and sorrow.

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Please be kind and review if you like this...thanks .


	2. Memories

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Written in response to ForeverFan13's request for more of this story. Also, written with the cotton candy bingo square - hungry - in mind.

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Derek has shoved every childhood memory so far back in the recesses of his mind that he doesn't remember anything other than the key events which led up to the mass murder of his family. It's too painful for him to remember anything other than that. Happy memories only serve to remind him of what he's lost, and their kind of sorrow does not ground him like anger does.

So, when Stiles shows up on his doorstep one evening in early spring, with a bag filled with cookies, he eyes the teen with a look of unconcealed hatred, and inwardly smiles when the teen flinches. Stiles, however, isn't daunted.

"I made these to thank you for what you did for Scott," the teen says, and he bites his lip, looks away, "and me."

When his thanks is met with stony silence as Derek just stares at him, Stiles merely places the bag of cookies on the porch, and quickly bows out, mumbling something about the cookies being the best cookies in the world, and how he'd made a promise to his mother years ago that he would do this.

Derek frowns and scratches at the back of his neck as he watches Stiles amble through the forest, presumably to get to his jeep and drive home. It's when he's certain that Stiles is far enough away so that the teen won't see him, that Derek closes the distance between himself and the bag of cookies.

He kneels in front of the bag and just stares at it, like it's a snake, ready to strike. He frowns and shifts on his knees, and the sagging wood of his porch makes sound, not unlike a groan, as it protests holding his weight. He knows that he should repair the Hale house, but he just can't seem to figure out where to start.

The bag is an ordinary brown one, but it strikes a chord of reminiscence inside of Derek, makes his heart ache in longing for the mother of his childhood. He reaches for the bag, pulls it close and sniffs it. The smell is familiar, as is the single blue ribbon that's tied around the brown bag.

He stands, his knees creak in protest at the sudden movement, and he sways on his feet as memories of his mother flood him – her smile, the lilt of her voice, the scent of her (summer's rain and honeysuckle)…

He can't hold onto his anger as the onslaught of memories continue, and he stumbles to the couch – a dilapidated, pathetic-looking thing that Scott and Stiles had hauled over to his place a couple months back – sitting heavily on it. His fingers tremble as he starts to untie the blue ribbon.

He's bombarded by a fresh wave of memories, which is followed by emotions that Derek can't even begin to identify. They aren't anything like the anger that he's clung to for as long as he can remember.

Unfettered, the blue ribbon falls to the floor beside his bare feet, and Derek's reminded of a spring day long ago: a little towheaded boy, a broken arm, a woman with a smile that rivaled the sun, and a bag filled with cookies that tasted like love and purity. Things he'd understood when he was a kid, when he still had family and love, and a heart.

He pulls a cookie from the bag, stares at it, and marvels at its simplicity. It is round, like a baseball. It is almost identical – down to the lopsided shape of it and the squiggly lines denoting that the decorator's hands weren't steady as they'd iced the cookie – to the cookie he'd shared with a little boy a lifetime ago, back when he'd understood things like love and family and what it was like to have fun.

He takes a bite of the cookie, closes his eyes, and revels in the taste of it. Youth, innocence, and love, have somehow been baked into the very heart of the cookie. His eyes snap open, and before he even knows what he's doing, he's on his feet and out the door, racing to find Stiles before the boy slips away from him.

Out of breath, bare feet cut by the sharp rocks and broken twigs he'd heedlessly run across in his haste to get to Stiles, he reaches the teen just as Stiles is about to start his jeep. Derek's fingers close around Stiles' wrist, and they share a look. Derek isn't even aware that he's still got the cookie – a single bite taken from it – in his hand until Stiles' eyes are drawn to it.

"It was you," Derek says breathlessly. " All of those years ago, it was you."

Stiles gives him a puzzled look, but says nothing. He moves to start the jeep, but Derek tightens his grip on the teen's wrist.

"You're that little boy – the golden haired angel," Derek insists. "The one my mother told me was destined to do great things one day. The child with a heart of gold."

"Uh," Stiles says, and he wriggles his wrist from Derek's grasp. "I just wanted to say thank you, you know, for saving Scott's life, and mine…again."

Derek searches Stiles' eyes until the both of them are uncomfortable, and Stiles looks away. He smiles a toothy grin, and takes another bite of the cookie before offering it to Stiles.

Stiles eyes the cookie, and Derek, warily.

"Want to share?" Derek asks, and his heart skips a beat when Stiles continues to stare at him like he's lost his mind, and maybe he has lost his mind, but now that he remembers, Derek doesn't want to forget.

"Please?" He doesn't normally resort to pleading, but his heart seems to be dictating his actions, and it has its mind set on this, for whatever reason.

"As I recall, these are the bestest cookies in the whole wide world," Derek prompts, "made with a special ingredient…"

Stiles doesn't take a bite the cookie as Derek had hoped he would, but then again, he does something which is far better – he leans forward and captures Derek's mouth in a kiss. It's tentative and awkward, and yet it stirs something inside of Derek that isn't anger, isn't pain, and isn't wolf. When the kiss ends, Stiles' cheeks are flushed; the reflection of the stars – silver – twinkles in his eyes, blown wide with surprise and lust; and he's breathing heavily.

"I'm…" whatever Stiles was going to say is cut off when Derek returns his gesture by sealing their lips together in a heated kiss that tastes like sugar cookie and icing that's just a little too sweet.

"You're perfect," Derek says when he pulls back. "Thank you," he adds, gesturing to the cookie. He smiles, the feeling foreign – lips stretching across his teeth, the corners inching upward – and yet something which has been a long time in coming.

"You're welcome," Stiles says, and he smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I hope you enjoy the cookies." He once again twists the key in the ignition.

"Stay?" Derek asks. "Help me eat the cookies?" He thinks that he'd like to taste a little more than the cookies Stiles gave him – the boy tastes like some kind of sweet confectionary and soda – but that can wait until Stiles is ready for that something more.

Stiles gives him a look like he's suddenly sprouted three heads, but he nods, and pulls the key out of the ignition, and then he follows Derek back to the broken Hale house. They sit side-by-side on the lumpy couch, sharing cookies and occasional kisses that taste like sugar, vanilla and the innocence of spring.

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Reviews would be greatly appreciated. Feed me cookies? Well, virtual, non-fattening ones, please.


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